Walk on the Ocean
by elle.writes
Summary: It had been twenty-eight days since Tony had last seen Bruce. Twenty-eight days and all he had was the ocean. He had finally given up looking.


Title: Walk on the Ocean

Author: ELLE

Pairings/Warnings: Tony/Bruce, explicit sexual situations, explicit language, excessive angst

Notes: For my wonderful gf for Christmas, late as it is. *snugs* This is mostly inspired by her headcanons and so while I try not to rewrite fics I've written in the same vein before, this one is especially for her. She suggested a different song that is inseparable from another fandom to me, so I supplanted my own. ;-)

* * *

 _Walk on the ocean, step on the stones  
_ _Flesh becomes water, wood becomes bone  
_ _Now back at the homestead, where the air makes you choke  
_ _People don't know you, trust is a joke  
_ _Don't even have pictures, just memories to hold  
_ _Grows sweeter each season, as we slowly grow old  
_ – Walk on the Ocean, Toad the Wet Sprocket

* * *

Twenty-eight days.

The ocean rolled across his toes, dragging the sand out from under them, pulling him out towards the darkness beyond the coast.

Twenty-eight days and all he had was the ocean.

The grey of it melded into the the grey of the sky as storm clouds moved in, the whole world at that moment reflecting his mood back at him.

Twenty-eight days and he's not even angry, not any more, just... empty.

The steady beat of the waves and the slow moving dispersion of clouds an impenetrable wall of blank that seemed eternal and endless. But Tony was inherently suspicious of endless because everything ended eventually. Everything.

So why couldn't he let this go?

He stared down at the sand and watched the little pebbles and shells and weed that was left behind, clinging to the shore as the water rushed away and he was standing there, just the same, watching the water receding and wishing he hadn't been left on the shore.

For twenty-eight days he'd abandoned everything in the pursuit of Bruce, discarding Tony Stark and living out of a bag full of nondescript clothes, toiletries, and a light sleeping bag, knowing that he couldn't go anywhere Bruce might go as who he was.

So he was anonymous – he with his tablet and his maps and his singular duffle – and he tracked Bruce as far as he could until the path went cold two days ago and he picked a direction and went until he reached the ocean. Part of him wanted to believe he'd find him there, of course. But really – he'd come to say goodbye.

It hurt – sure – but he'd had twenty-eight days to become acquainted with the idea and now he felt numb more than anything else. It was over. He had to let him go.

He kicked at the surf as the first drops of rain fell, splattering water up his rolled up khakis but whatever. It was over. It was time to go home.

There was a little cottage he'd rented out just a short walk up the beach. Sparse but clean and though he didn't really relish the idea of being alone tonight, it was too late to head back to Cape Town now and anyway – it was going to rain.

Tony picked up his shoes, holding them by the heels as he started back, feet dragging in the sand as the rain pricked cold along his shoulders and neck. He was tired. And the thought of going home, back to New York, somehow finally hurt less than the thought of living without Bruce and he didn't know how that was supposed to make him feel. Didn't feel great, not really. Bruce's memory would be everywhere, on everything, and eventually Tony would have to watch it fade away until he couldn't remember how Bruce stood with his hip leaned into the desk or the how he walked through the room on the verge of a breakthrough or the way his lips felt on the back of his neck when he was tired and he wanted to go up to bed but didn't want to admit it.

They were burning there now, though, and Tony rubbed the back of his neck, a little glad for the sudden ache in his chest. Maybe it wasn't quite over yet.

He glanced up at his cabin and squinted when he noticed a light on inside. It was a gas lamp and he was sure he wouldn't have been so negligent to have left it burning while he was out – so he was immediately suspicious. Out here he was basically defenseless and while to some degree that had been a liberating experience after everything they had been through – moments of extreme paranoia and panic had riddled his expedition. He tried not to let this be one of them.

Tony slowed down and walked up from the size of the shack where there were no windows, blinking his eyes against the rain. Given he only had his shoes and a pocket knife on him his options were limited but he opened the knife in his pocket just in case and gripped the shoes in a firmer hold so he could use them as a bludgeon if necessary.

Carefully he crept around the side of the door, throwing it open in one quick motion as he backed away simultaneously, quickly assessing the singular big open room from what he could see from the widest vantage point. And what he saw made his whole body go slack, the shoes falling from limp fingers and hitting the sand with a dull thud Tony hadn't even heard over the rushing in his ears.

"Bruce?"

He was sitting at the little two person table only a few feet from the bed, an open thermos on the table in front of him, shoulders hunched and face clouded – darker than the sky outside. It looked like he'd just shaved but his hair was longer than normal and unkempt, curly and crazy, and his clothes were worn, likely second hand – just a pair of faded jeans with the knees nearly busted out and a t-shirt. But still – to Tony he was like a vision, perfect in every way and more than he'd ever expected or deserved.

Bruce looked up at him but his gaze was unsteady and his hands were balled into uncomfortable fists, fingers working against his palms.

"Tony."

Tony entered the cabin, moving towards him as Bruce stood and hunched up defensively. It hurt – but more than anything, Tony was confused. Why come all this way and then act like Tony would be anything but ecstatic to see him?

"You can't keep searching for me."

Bruce's voice was strained but Tony laughed, a genuine smile cracking his face as he spread his arms wide, indicating Bruce's person.

"I don't have to – I found you!"

"No, you didn't," Bruce replied, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I came here to ask you to stop."

Immediately Tony tried to tamp down his anger at being wounded like that. Ask him to stop? Tony's life was full of one-way relationships and the idea that Bruce was just another one of them hurt him deeply. Bruce, of everyone, was supposed to _understand_. Those late nights wrapped around one another with his face in Bruce's chest, whispering soft confessions about his father, about Obi, about his classmates, his flings, about Steve, even – fuck – and Bruce would press his mouth to Tony's head and share one of his own as they fell asleep... How could that be a _lie_?

"I was going to leave," he said suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence with worse words. "I was always going to leave."

Tony felt like his heart was breaking all over again and he hated it – hated what Bruce was doing to him. Why would he do this? How did it help, to come and say this now? He was going to leave – even before Ultron? Tony could understand, after the Witch, after what had happened not terribly far from where they were now. But before _that_? When things had been good between them?

"Stop, Tony," Bruce asked, voice breaking just enough to make Tony flinch. "It's not you."

Tony's hard eyes scanned the room, wishing he had something he could throw. _It's not you_. What does that even mean? There was only one thing he heard. _You're not enough_ , Tony. _You can't help me_ , Tony. _You failed_ , Tony. Why was his love never enough? He offered Bruce everything – _everything_ – and it still wasn't enough. He'd never be enough.

"Tony," Bruce begged, stepping forward cautiously, but Tony couldn't move.

Instead, Tony's jaw worked, teeth grinding together as he pleaded with himself not to cry. He couldn't even look at Bruce, just stare to the side, wishing he had never started this stupid mission, had never tried to find Bruce. Maybe some things were better as memories. He didn't – he didn't need to know...

"Tony," Bruce tried again, so close now he could smell the scent of his skin and the salt on it, could feel Bruce's fingertips near his face, wanting to touch him but uncertain – always uncertain... "I'm still in love with you."

It was like a shot to the gut, pain flooded him and his knees felt weak and fuck – his vision was blurry and he hated it but he couldn't wipe his eyes without giving it away but – for twenty-eight days he'd _longed_ to hear that. With every fiber of his being he had _needed_ it.

He bit his lip and pulled it from beneath his teeth as he turned to look at Bruce, a portrait of a broken man. Tony blamed himself for everything – for Ultron, for asking Bruce to help him. For pushing him away, pushing him towards Natasha with every well intended mistake. For using Veronica, for never having a moment to apologize. For Sokovia and everyone who'd died because of him, because of what he'd asked of Bruce. And while he _wanted_ absolution from Bruce – what he'd _needed_ was simply to hear that he was still capable of being loved.

Their eyes met for a moment, open and unguarded, as equals – like so many times before, before everything – and it felt right. It had always felt right and the relief of that, the relief of _knowing_ it still was, was more than Tony could bear. God how he had missed those eyes...

Bruce's fingers touched his face, lightly, like he didn't believe Tony was really, truly there. But Tony leaned into the touch, afraid to close his eyes because he wasn't any more convinced than Bruce that this was really happening and if he was going to disappear again, Tony wanted to be present for every moment until then.

The tension was intense between them. It always had been, ever since they met, but the air felt charged with it, like a tangible thing that could reach out and strangle him. He'd spent twenty-eight days traveling the globe just for this, just to look into Bruce's eyes again, and he hadn't even been sure he'd ever get that chance. Tony could see the uncertainty in Bruce, feel his hesitation – but Tony had none of those reservations. Everything he'd wanted was standing right in front of him.

Tony leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first, cautious. It had been so long and Tony sure as hell didn't think Bruce wanted this, not exactly, not when he had just told him only minutes earlier to leave him alone but – fuck if it wasn't what Bruce _needed_. Tony knew him, knew him through softly worded conversations and meticulously accrued SHIELD files and the look on his face when something went wrong and the way the other guy still cared for the team. Knew him through the past two years of working side by side and eating together and fucking each other. Knew him through his research and his book collection and the little murmur of I love you the next day after they'd had sex. And Tony knew as badly as he needed the reminder that he could be loved, Bruce needed it even more.

And in an instant everything changed. All that thick electricity surrounding them sparked along their veins and in their tongues as they pressed their mouths together hard, Bruce's hands on the back of his neck, drawing him closer as Tony's hands balled themselves in that worn out old t-shirt, just as effectively drawing him in. The humidity seemed stifling and Tony struggled to breathe as they backed into the table, spilling Bruce's thermos across it, but he refused to remove himself from Bruce's lips, as if he would disappear again the moment they stopped. Tony sure as _hell_ wasn't ready for this to stop.

Like overeager teenagers they were pawing at each other's clothes, stumbling towards the bed, trying to get buttons undone and sweaty shirts off without removing themselves an inch from the other's body. Bruce was rarely this needy and Tony fed off off his lust, sucking it down greedily as he ran sloppy kisses down his neck, up under the collar of the shirt, pulling it up and handing it off to Bruce to pull over his head so he could kiss at his chest.

Tony could feel Bruce's fingers in his hair and hear his heavy breathing, each little moan whispered in Tony's ear fueling him on. His hips ground helpless and unbidden against Tony's own, less restraint than Bruce had ever shown during sex before, and Tony ached – he wanted him so bad.

He paused a moment to offer a grin before pushing Bruce down on the bed. And Bruce – Bruce actually laughed as he fell on the bed and Tony collapsed into him, wrapping him up in his arms, feeling his warmth beneath him. Tony wasn't stupid enough to believe it was a happy laugh but it was something – catharsis, maybe, the release of the weight of the past two months. It didn't matter – it was enough for him.

Rain started falling in earnest, beating against the roof as Tony kissed him again, running his fingers down Bruce's chest, down to the button in his jeans and slipping it through. Bruce's hands were on him, too, up under his shirt, clinging to his back, holding him close as they kissed.

Tony took a moment to dig through his toiletry bag for a little bottle of lube before he turned his attention back to Bruce. It was so different than he'd imagined – this creaky little bed in a shack thousands of miles away from home. But then – Bruce was here, looking up at him with those hyper-focused bedroom eyes, chest heaving and glistening with sweat, hair damp and stuck to his face and neck, and home? Did it even matter where they were?

A little voice in the back of his head whispered that yes, it did, it mattered a lot because what if he couldn't convince Bruce to go home and then he would _never be there ever again._

But Tony didn't want to listen, he just wanted to appreciate this, and he undid the button to his own pants as he positioned himself over Bruce, and with a softer touch took Bruce's bottom lip between his own, a hand slipping down between Bruce's legs, a shiver shooting to his own dick when Bruce moaned at his touch.

He wanted to go at it as frantic and hard as their foreplay had been but he knew from experience with Bruce that they couldn't, that it was too risky, that the line between sexual aggression and fear was too close for him so he prepped him more slowly than he wanted to, covering him in reassuring kisses until he knew even Bruce couldn't take it any more.

"Tony," Bruce groaned, dick dripping with precum, and Tony's insides twisted to see him like that, a bittersweet pain. He wanted to give Bruce what he needed.

Watching Bruce carefully, paying special attention to his breathing, he shrugged his pants down his own thighs and lifted Bruce's hips. They'd done this before, the positioning was easy, it came naturally, Bruce spread himself eagerly before Tony – but there was something else there, lurking, something forced. Something that felt more like 'this is how it should be' than 'this is how it is.' And Bruce felt good – fuck, he felt _damn_ good – but still tears pricked at Tony's eyes, though he swallowed them down and he didn't know why.

He gave Bruce a moment to breathe after he was fully seated and he looked at Bruce, ran the backs of his fingers across his cheek, feeling the stubble he managed to accumulate in a day. Tony didn't even have to look in his eyes to know what a showing of trust this was for him right now, but he did. Watched the way they watched him and felt – Bruce was too good for him. He didn't deserve that kind of trust.

Just as he was about to pull back there was a crack of thunder that shook the whole shack and they both tensed up in sudden panic, unsure what had happened – until they realized just a second later that it was nothing and burst into shared laughter. It eased the tension and refocused them, washing away uncertainty as they grinned at one another. And Bruce leaned up, reaching towards him, Tony meeting him halfway in a kiss.

His hands found their way back to Bruce's hips as he moved his own with a very deliberate pace, as fast as he could reasonably go given Bruce's particular circumstances, but he liked to see Bruce come undone – and he really needed to now.

Sweat dripped down his face as the entire place lit up like Christmas with the crack of thunder and flash of lightning and Bruce's skin was flushed, head thrown back, eyes shut tight. His hands gripped at Tony's, silently pleading him to go faster, but Tony wouldn't, he couldn't, much as he might like to. There were very few times Tony regretted Bruce's decision to test the serum on himself – it had nothing to do with him, it had been Bruce's decision and his alone, Tony might have made the same call – but this was one of them. Bruce wanted more and he couldn't have it and Tony wasn't particularly fond of or good at holding back.

"Tony," Bruce whined, pressing his knees into Tony's ribcage to draw him closer and it was all Tony could do to stop himself from dropping Bruce's hips, fisting his hands in the sheets, and fucking him raw.

Instead he took a more shallow trajectory, moving slower, shifting one hand over to Bruce's dick. He was good with time, more so than anyone ever seemed to expect, and he moved his hand and his hips in concert, slowly and carefully guiding Bruce to the brink. It was second nature at this point but he remembered their first few experiments, jerking off in the bathroom by himself after pushing Bruce too far. Though it was awful at the time, Bruce's guilt and fear getting the best of him, Tony suddenly kind of missed it, knowing they'd never have the opportunity to discover each other like that again.

He murmured quiet nothings that he wasn't even sure Bruce could hear over the rain as Bruce's body tensed, winding so tightly Tony was genuinely concerned he'd have to stop. But Bruce grabbed at the sheets, a telltale gasp as he sucked in breath, a flighty moan of Tony's name and his whole body compressed as he came. Cum shot up across his chest and Tony groaned watching it, hips sluggish, barely able to move, the friction so intense it was only a moment before he was coming too, lost in a moment of sweet bliss.

Sex for Tony wasn't something that always meant anything outside of physical pleasure and when he was younger that created a lot of problems for him, people always wanting him to feel something he didn't, couldn't feel. As he got older, people seemed to be more on the same page as him, fucking for pleasure and then letting it go – or maybe it was just a byproduct of who he was that they had no expectations. Either way, he appreciated that. But now, staring down at Bruce spread out before him, muscles relaxing against the bed, sweaty and content, a little curl to his lips, Tony felt that twinge in his chest, that thing he could only describe as love. It took him a long time to learn how to love – truly love, selflessly love – and he still didn't feel all that good at it most of the time. Looking down at Bruce, though, he was overwhelmed with it.

Tony collapsed on the bed next to him and slotted himself up against Bruce, kissing the side of his face, his ear, the edge of his mouth with light touches as Bruce's breathing evened out. The humid air felt almost cool by comparison as the sweat on their skin staled with each passing minute but the hot rain still pounded the little shack and Tony had to fight to keep his eyes open – exhausted and so comfortable now that he had found Bruce. It seemed like anything they had to say could be said tomorrow, right? But only a moment later Bruce was standing and Tony tried to contain his irrational panic as he was only headed to the bathroom.

There was a little flask stashed in his bag and Tony sipped on it as he stared at the knocked over thermos, trying not to think about what Bruce had said now that his lust had been abated. But the words rang around his head – _I was always going to leave_ – and when Bruce stepped out of the bathroom Tony could hardly bring himself to look at him.

To his benefit Bruce just rubbed at the back of his neck and didn't approach him, leaving his clothes near the bed, and moving instead to the table to wipe up the water. Tony stared down at his little flask. He wasn't enough. This, what they had, his love – it wasn't enough. Story of his life.

Bruce sighed as he righted the thermos, as if he could feel the oppression of Tony's dark thoughts. He was always good at guessing what Tony was thinking – maybe the only person who ever really had a shot.

"It really wasn't you," Bruce said at last, softly, as he wiped at the table with a towel. "You – you gave me everything I wanted, everything that I could still have."

Tony watched the glint of light shift across the flask in his lap as he moved it back and forth, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"But it wasn't enough.

"Enough? _Tony_." His voice was obstinate in the way he drew out Tony's name but Tony could also practically feel Bruce deflate from across the room.

Bruce had this uncanny way of drawing out sympathy from the people around him who cared about him and Tony was never really sure how aware of it he was. People liked to think of him as being wholly innocent but Bruce was highly intelligent and very aware of himself and Tony knew that better than anyone.

"Well what do you want me to think?" Tony asked, voice hard as he glared up at Bruce. "You fuck off and disappear before we even have a chance to talk about anything and it would be one thing to do that to me – I'm a big boy, I can handle disappointment – but Nat? Whatever happened between you two, she was fucking distraught. So I spend twenty-eight days looking for you and finally, _finally_ I give up and then guess what? You show up telling me to stop looking for you because you were going to leave anyway. Sorry if I'm not exactly feeling the 'love' Big Guy."

The pet name slipped out before he could stop himself and thunder rang in the silence that followed, amplifying it as lightening cast dark and light across Bruce's face.

"I don't have the luxury of being complacent," Bruce said, voice far more even than Tony expected, not taking the bait Tony had thrown down. "Did you even know that I had stopped looking for a cure?"

"Because there's not one," Tony offered with a huff as he brought the flask to his lips, watching Bruce's face crumple at what he refused to believe was reality.

"Because I loved everything too much!" he spat back, throwing up his arms and turning his face away for the first time and Tony felt guilt like a knife in his gut. This wasn't easy for Bruce, either. But at least Tony could look back and face him again. "I – I loved working with you, with the team, living in the tower, having friends. I loved being useful again, so much so that I was even stupid enough to think the other guy could be useful, that maybe I could control him." Bruce chuckled this cruel little laugh that Tony hated. "But just as soon as someone got close enough to attack me –"

"You can't hold yourself responsible for the Witch," Tony interjected, knowing that was exactly what Bruce had done anyway – because it was what he himself had done, too.

"You don't get it because you can stop, you can just refuse to put on the suit," Bruce said, "but I am a liability. I'll always be a liability until I find the cure."

"So come _home_ ," Tony pleaded, not even caring how pathetic that sounded. "Come home and we'll find it together."

For a moment Bruce seemed speechless, huffing out a frustrated breath as he ran his hands back through his hair.

"I – I can't," Bruce said, looking around the room hopelessly. "Look what happened."

" _What_ happened, Bruce?" Tony asked, trying not to sound sarcastic though he was sure he'd failed. "People cared about you?"

"Well – _yeah_ ," was Bruce's answer. He looked especially ridiculous standing there naked, gesturing openly like 'what the fuck did you think?' but Tony wasn't laughing.

"Maybe you've been alone too long buddy," he shot back, frustrated at the ridiculous arguments that Bruce was making, "but that's generally considered a _good_ thing."

"Not for me. I can hurt them." Bruce was shaking his head and he sat back down at the table, burying his face in his hands. "I convinced Nat that I would run away with her – that I might come to love her."

For a minute Tony didn't know what to say. He knew there was something going on there but – Nat wanted to run away? That wasn't how she solved problems and the proof was in the fact that it was him here right now and not her. She stayed to clean up the mess when _she_ could've left to find him.

"We all said shit, Bruce. You were both fucked up and emotional over Wanda," Tony said, a little uncertain. "But Nat's a big girl – she'd understand. She didn't run anyway, you know, she's still at HQ, with Fury and Cap. She'd understand."

But it was like Bruce didn't even hear him. He just sat there, mumbled out a "she deserved better" from beneath the cover he'd created with his hands and shook his head again and Tony wasn't even sure he was talking about Nat and not Betty but it didn't matter because the fact remained –

"You can't stop somebody from loving you."

The words fell from his mouth like venom. Now Tony really _was_ angry. He didn't mean to fall in love with Bruce. When he'd made Bruce the offer to come live in the tower, he'd had no personal attachment to him but as a man in whom he saw a reflection of himself – desperate to atone for his sins. It wasn't like he'd targeted Bruce. He was just trying to atone too.

Bruce looked up from his hands, looked straight at him so that Tony knew he was talking to him, and said – "But I _can_ leave."

Anger flared hot in Tony's chest as he debated standing up and cracking Bruce across the face. What the fuck _was_ that? Get close to someone and then leave? Maybe Tony was being selfish to want Bruce to stay – sure as hell didn't feel like it, seemed like he was trying to help him – but Bruce wasn't exactly a paragon of selflessness by leaving, either.

"Then why did you even come here?" Tony growled, hackles raised, hurt and defensive. "If you weren't going to come home, you should've just stayed gone."

Bruce turned his face like he'd been slapped anyway, biting the inside of his cheeks. He sat that way for a moment, completely still, while Tony fumed, mind racing, combining his anger at being abandoned, at not being enough, with memories of how it was before, how easy, how a whole part of his world revolved around Bruce and how he thought that was how Bruce felt too.

Then Bruce was standing and gathering up his clothes and Tony wanted to say something, _fuck_ – he knew he just told Bruce to leave but... He didn't want them to leave each other like this, angry and hurt. He just wanted... He wanted Bruce to stay. He wanted Bruce to come home with him. He didn't want him to leave, ever, he wanted it to be different, he wanted Bruce to feel safe, and he wanted – he just wanted to love him.

Tony stood and stopped him with his foot halfway through the pants leg and enticed him into a cautious hug, wrapping his arms carefully around Bruce as he stood there, cold and distant and Tony couldn't blame him.

"I... I'm sorry," Tony tried, talking over Bruce's shoulder and grateful he didn't have to look him in the face. "I just missed you and – and I don't want you to go."

Bruce buried his face in Tony's neck, reaching to return the hug. "I missed you so much."

Tony hated how good it felt to hear that, to feel Bruce tucked up against him, how familiar it was, and that this was it for them. He wanted to say 'every day I thought of you,' tell him that he constantly thought of things he wanted to say, that only his best friend would understand, but his throat felt choked and he wasn't sure what would come out if he opened his mouth. All his anger had faded to ash and he didn't want to argue with Bruce anymore.

He realized Bruce had been crying a little as he backed away and wiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands, reaching back down for his discarded clothing. Tony stopped him, grabbing his wrists as he stood. Even if he didn't like it or even understand it he knew that sometimes you had to let the people you loved go but...

"Stay with me," he mumbled, having a hard time meeting Bruce's eyes. "Stay tonight."

Bruce's lips parted and Tony kissed him, trying to say what he really meant without the hinderance of limiting words. _I love you_ and _I'm trying_ and _I need you_.

Tony enticed him back on the bed by shrugging out of his own clothes and slipping up under the blanket with him. Legs entwined, lips locked, fingers brushing back hair and stroking over sweaty skin, the feeling of familiar, comfortable contact made them half hard and nostalgic. They lay like that for a long time, listening to the rain patter down, lightly now, no more thunder.

"I'm sorry," Bruce eventually mumbled between his lips, tucked in close with eyes closed.

Tony didn't know what he was apologizing for but he ran his fingers through his hair, unconcerned with a reply.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, lips trembling on Tony's. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Tony's hands were in his hair and he tried to kiss him and make him shut up, this was perfect and be didn't need to apologize, but it was like the dam burst and he wouldn't stop.

"I'm sorry for coming," he finally said, soft and shaky, "I shouldn't have I just – I never felt alone... until I met you. And I..."

Then Tony realized, truly, how much harder this was for him. That whatever reasoning Bruce had for leaving, no matter how bad or illogical, it meant something to him, something important enough to drag him away and cause him this much pain.

"I missed you," he continued, a rambling mess of barely audible words. "Sometimes I think – I think even with a cure? I... I am the monster. I have to – I end up hurting everyone."

Bruce buried his face against Tony's chest, clinging to him like the surf to the shore, lips ghosting whispers of foam against his heart.

"There's no place in this world for me – you understand that, don't you? But for a minute I – I thought there might be."

Tony held him, like they used to, didn't say anything, wasn't sure Bruce wanted him to. But it was hard because Tony thought he'd had a place too – a place by his side. And Bruce clearly didn't see that. And in that moment Tony knew – he would never see that. Not until he left. Even if he somehow managed to convince Bruce to come home, the first thing that went wrong and Bruce would turn on him, blame him for bringing him back, turn tail and leave anyway. As much as his heart ached to think it with Bruce in his arms, where he wanted him always – it was better this way.

"You'll always have a place with me," Tony said at last, murmuring into his hair. "Whenever you want it."

Suddenly Bruce's breathing stopped and he pulled back a little to look Tony in the eyes, gauging his sincerity – but Tony was absolute.

"I've had a lot of lovers," he said, "but not very many friends. You can always come home. Even if – well. You can _always_ come home."

"Even if... what?" Bruce whispered in the stillness, though Tony had hoped he wouldn't.

"Even if," Tony said, trying to be cavalier even though his voice broke, "you don't love me anymore."

"Tony..." The way Bruce said his name was like the roll of the ocean and he felt his heart compress as Bruce took his face in both hands and swelled towards him.

They kissed. They kissed and touched until affirmation turned to lust and sweat rolled down their bodies again and Bruce rocked into him.

It was slow and steady, each roll of Bruce's hips into him dragging him closer to an edge he never wanted to reach. Because when they kissed each kiss felt like goodbye and when they sighed each sigh sounded like the surf dragging him away. Every moment here where he fought to keep from drowning was a moment that they would never have again and Tony didn't want it to end.

Bruce mumbled his name in his ear, over and over as he drew out and slid in again, holding him close, and Tony lay his head in the crook of Bruce's neck and panted out expletives. Tony's fingers clung to his sweaty back, holding on like if he let go for a moment Bruce would disappear like sea foam in the surf. His dick slid mercilessly against Bruce's abs with every push, sweaty and slick. He knew he couldn't hold out forever but, just a little longer.

Tony's breathing sped up as he got close and he pressed their foreheads together, looking Bruce in the eyes for a minute – borderline and struggling to maintain control of himself and his emotions – and Tony kissed him hard on the mouth, hard enough that it was the only thing he could think about. And as they kissed Tony rolled his hips against Bruce's body with every thrust until he was breathless and coming between their bodies, feeling Bruce's last few shallow thrusts before his body shuddered and his own orgasm swept him away.

He physically ached – sore in a way that was different than after a battle – but the worst was that he was sore where he couldn't be touched, couldn't be bandaged. His heart ached and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.

But they lay wrapped around each other – and it helped. And watching as Bruce slipped into sleep – it helped. Knowing that he still felt safe with him, still trusted him enough to let his guard down – it helped too.

Despite how exhausted he was, Tony watched Bruce sleeping in his arms a long, long time, not wanting to fall asleep himself. In the most desperate little part of his mind he had convinced himself that maybe if he just didn't go to sleep then when Bruce woke up to leave he wouldn't be able to. He would see Tony there, waiting for him, and he would change his mind. He would come home. Tony would hold him again, and again, and again.

Eventually though he couldn't fight it any longer – the exhaustion of the search, the warmth of the room, the comfort of being wrapped around the man he spent twenty-eight days looking for – it all caught up with him and without even realizing it he fell asleep.

And in the morning when he awoke Bruce was already gone, nothing more than a wet towel signifying that he had been there at all.

Tony hated it. He showered and packed his things quickly, hating to be in that shack where Bruce's ghost lingered so bodily, taunting him with what they'd said to one another only a couple hours earlier.

The air was cool outside, the lingering feeling of rain casting a sort of peacefulness Tony wasn't expecting, and the sand was still wet with it. Footprints marked where Bruce had left that morning and Tony smiled a little as he saw them and put his shoes in his bag, not being able to resist planting his feet where Bruce had stood.

Tony followed the footsteps to the shoreline where the waves had washed them away and stood in the final weak impressions of Bruce's feet, staring out at the ocean like he had done the night before. The sunrise colored the whole sky bright pink and he felt the tide coming in, rolling over his feet once more.

He stared down at the sand and watched the little pebbles and shells and weed that was left behind, clinging to the shore as the water rushed away and he was standing there, just the same, watching the water receding and wishing he hadn't been left on the shore.

But he took a deep breath and shook away those thoughts, reminding himself – Bruce had looked out at this sky. And they would always have that. Bruce would always be there with him – in how Bruce stood with his hip leaned into the desk or how he walked through the room on the verge of a breakthrough or the way his lips felt on the back of his neck when he was tired and he wanted to go up to bed but didn't want to admit it. He didn't have to forget if he didn't want to and it didn't have to hurt.

Today it hadn't been twenty-eight days since he'd last seen Bruce. Today was day one. Maybe, one day – day thirty-five, day eighty-nine, day three-hundred-and-sixty-two – Bruce would come home. And when he did, they would make new memories. But until then, at least, he would have these.


End file.
